As he stepped into the mall, a sudden gust of wind brushed into the unbuttoned top half of his shirt. He felt a bit cold, but he was determined that this was the look for the day, and he was not going to change it now. The heels of his shoes – wooden and expensive, reverberated across the mall as he walked. It was an oasis of Beverley Hills in the middle of London, a kind of LA transposition of celebrity and fashion. There was open space and red-brick pavement, ultra contemporary shopping space, with the name of a celebrity here and there, splattered above a shop with ostentatious clothing. Facebook adverts were everywhere, since he had opted in for the virtual reality stream. All he could see was being broadcast on Facebook, and the walls of the shops advertised which of his friends ‘liked’ the shops he was seeing, in real time. There was no longer a definition of Facebook addiction, as Facebook had become an integral part of life.
He walked into the grandiosely titled Larger than Facebook store, which was a vast expanse to consumer non-electronics. You see, Facebook was integrated everywhere now. You could not buy anything without a Facebook chip, a Facebook screen, or chew food without a Facebook scan-friendly signature, so that your brain could relay the taste in real time to the network, where your friends would be able to set the ‘live like...’ mode and experience everything you tasted, saw or felt, in real time. So this store was an aberration.
The shop assistant saw him coming in and whispered to the girl standing beside her. They both laughed, but did so looking down at the counter. He didn’t care. He knew they had a reputation here for being full of themselves. But he’d show them how much he had to spend and they would see who the head honcho really was.
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